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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458439">Offering</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctuary_for_all/pseuds/sanctuary_for_all'>sanctuary_for_all</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, I just want good things for Malcolm, Pre-Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:54:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,739</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458439</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctuary_for_all/pseuds/sanctuary_for_all</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Edrisa makes a gesture. (post-ep for 1X12)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malcolm Bright/Edrisa Tanaka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>137</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Offering</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Edrisa stood outside of Malcom’s building, regretting nearly every choice she’d made up to this point.</p><p>She’d gotten his phone number off his medical records, which was efficient but (she’d realized after the fact) something he might see as unsettling. So she hadn’t called him to see if he was in before she’d shown up, which she’d done over her lunch break because her courage had suddenly hit and she’d found herself heading here instead of her usual sandwich shop. She’d kept the book in her bag, just in case, but she’d been trying to come up with a way to present it to him all the way here that didn’t sound ridiculous and she hadn’t come up with anything yet. Honestly, at this point it would probably be better for everyone if she just turned around, went back to the office, and pretended—</p><p>The memory of hearing that he’d tried to shock himself rose up inside her. It hadn’t made her stomach drop like it had when she’d heard he’d been kidnapped, that awful hollow sensation that had made her feel too much like someone in the middle of an autopsy. But it had tilted the world just a little, put a cold seed of fear inside her heart that felt worlds apart from the anxiety she was so familiar with. She’d read up on Quentin’s claims about erasing negative memories, but anyone with a mind as beautiful as Malcolm’s would have seen how barbarously blunt and medically out-of-date the technique was. The fact that he’d been distressed enough to be tempted anyway…</p><p>Propelled by another rush of courage, she pressed the buzzer.</p><p>After a few endless heartbeats, she heard his voice through the speaker. “If this is Ilsa, then I would like to take the opportunity to apologize one more time for locking you in the closet. But I’m still not letting you back up here, and if my mother is still paying you then I encourage you to take it as well-deserved hazard pay and move on with the rest of your day.”</p><p>She blinked, caught off guard enough that any prepared dialogue she’d considered on the way here was instantly forgotten. “It’s me.” The words weren’t all the way out of her mouth before she realized how useless they were as a response, as she inhaled in preparation to try something a little more coherent. “I mean it’s—”   </p><p>“Edrisa?” He finished the sentence for her, his voice full of surprise and the warmth that always turned her into such a bumbling fool. “Well, you’re much more welcome than Ilsa.”</p><p>She heard the sound of him buzzing her up, and she hurried through the door and tried valiantly to collect herself on the way up to his floor. She hadn’t quite managed it by the time she got there, particularly because he’d opened the door before she could knock. “Edrisa.” He stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in like a butler in an old movie. “Welcome to my humble abode.”</p><p>She was inside before she’d realized she’d moved, propelled by the force of his personality, and it was automatic to scan his apartment as she made the slow turn back to him. It screamed money in a quiet New York way, a fact she’d already known when he’d just been a mythic figure to her, but the collection of weaponry made her itch to ask about each and every one of them. She could even see his bed from where she was standing, a quality set of BDSM manacles attached to—</p><p>Her brain finally processed what she was analyzing, jumping away from something more private than she had a right to. Her gaze landed back on his face, and when he met her eyes it was clear he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. He smiled. “Sadly, those aren’t recreational.” He put on a regretful expression, slightly theatrical in the same way it always was. “I have night terrors. Those keep me from waking up someplace I’d rather not find myself.”</p><p>Edrisa nodded, making a mental note to read all the literature she could find on night terrors. She’d started researching insomnia after finally picking up on all the signs of exhaustion on him, but she hadn’t found anything yet that didn’t seem like something he would have already tried.</p><p>Unfortunately, her mouth continued its habit of operating independently from her distracted brain. “There are a lot of different linings you can experiment with,” she heard herself saying. “It might be more comfortable. There are several good websites—”</p><p>She cut herself off, horrified, but Malcolm’s smile only widened. “I’m afraid I haven’t done much research into the topic,” he said warmly. “Maybe I should put it on my to-do list for the next two weeks.”</p><p>The mention of his enforced vacation forcibly reminded her of her excuse for coming here in the first place. “Oh! I have something for you.” She dug into her bag, pulling out the book and handing it to him. “It’s a guide of forensic-based museums around the country.” She cleared her throat, suddenly awkward. “You know, if you were trying to decide where to go on vacation and needed some suggestions.”</p><p>“Thank you.” He looked surprised and maybe even a little pleased, scanning the book with what looked like genuine interest. It was far more attention than the gift deserved, and Edrisa thought again about the other cops’ barely concealed impatience with her reaction to Malcolm. If she’d had the words, or the courage, she would look every one of them in the eye and tell them to imagine meeting whatever football player, actor, or pop star they idolized from afar. Instead of merely passing them on the street, or getting an autograph from them, you get to work with them day after day.</p><p>And then she would tell them to imagine finding out that the person they’d idolized was impossibly kind, gentle, and funny in addition to everything else. In that situation, they’d be just as much of a wreck as she always was.</p><p>He looked up again, interest bright in his eyes. “Clearly, I need to go to more museums. How long can I keep this?”</p><p>She’d meant to give it to him – she’d hand him everything off her bookshelves if he asked – but some primal part of her brain pointed out that returning it would necessitate more interaction. “As long as you need to.” She waved a hand, trying for casual. “I’ve actually been to some of them, if you want any firsthand reviews.”</p><p>“I’d love them.” He tucked the book under his arm. “Have you had lunch? I’m not what you’d call a big eater, but I do know how to put together a mean grilled cheese sandwich. Even one handed, I'm pretty sure I can do it without lighting the kitchen on fire. And for drinks, we have water and a selection of alcohol.” He grinned. “But, in my defense, it’s <em>very </em>good alcohol.”</p><p>The offer was <em>incredibly</em> tempting, but the additional time plus the additional alcohol seemed like too dangerous a prospect to risk. She would say something unforgivably stupid, something not even Malcolm’s kindness could forgive, and she’d ruin what little there was between them. “I’m sorry, but I’m on my lunch break, and I should probably be—”</p><p>It <em>hurt</em> to see his face fall, though he’d packed it away again an instant later. “Of course, of course. My apologies.” He was all bustling theatricality again, his shield against the world, and Edrisa cursed the message boards for preparing her so <em>poorly</em> for the aching, beautiful, absolutely <em>heartbreaking</em> complexity that was Dr. Malcolm Bright. “Thank you for the book, but I should let you get—”</p><p>The words, as always, fell out of her mouth without any warning. “Were you really going to shock yourself?”</p><p>He went still, looking at her with a careful expression she’d never seen from him before. He didn’t say anything for a few moments, clearly wrestling with a few different responses, then sighed. “Maybe,” he said quietly.</p><p>She nodded, acknowledging the honesty of the answer. He was still watching her, waiting for something, and she realized the carefulness was him waiting for her response. A braver, classier version of the offhand way she told people about her anxiety, as if it didn’t matter. As if how they responded wasn’t important.</p><p>She let out a breath, willing herself to say this right. “It’s been scientifically proven that negative experiences shape our personalities as much as positive ones.”</p><p>He nodded, still clearly waiting. “Possibly even more so, depending on which study you read.”</p><p>She swallowed, meeting his eyes. “I like your personality.” Her voice wavered a little, but this time she wasn’t ashamed of it. “Please don’t change it.”</p><p>Surprise flashed in his eyes, something far deeper than when she’d given him the book, then there was enough emotion in his eyes to make her throat tighten. He blinked it back, but she could still see the edges of it leaking around the edges. She watched him so much more carefully, now. “My personality makes most people nervous,” he said quietly, voice thicker than it had been.</p><p>If she’d been talking to the mythic profiler she couldn’t help but idolize, even now, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from piling on reassurances. But this was the Malcolm she’d missed so much, the one she’d nearly lost, and he deserved the kind of gentle care he always showed everyone else.</p><p>She smiled at him. “There are a lot of things that make me nervous. You are <em>definitely</em> not one of them.”</p><p>His own smile returned, a light in his eyes that she was pretty sure she’d see long after she went to bed tonight. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with grilled cheese and alcohol?” he tried again. “If you’re late, I’m sure I can talk Gil into writing you an excuse note.”</p><p>A laugh slipped out at the sheer ridiculousness of the imagery, and she felt something deeper than her usual courage rise up. Malcolm would forgive her, no matter how much of a fool she made of herself. “Actually, I think I can stay.” She gestured toward the wall of weapons. “I'll help you with the prep work, and you can tell me all about those.”</p><p>His smile widened into a grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come check out my <a href="https://jennifferwardell.wixsite.com/mybooks">original fiction,</a> my <a href="http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com">blog,</a> or say hi to me on <a href="http://sanctuaryforalluniverses.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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